Nine
Not again.
For the last two mornings, Cash had been writing in his studio rather than outside. Sometimes the change of scenery helped him create. Lately, he’d been chugging along and, while writing was not seamless, at least he’d found momentum.
Also for the last two mornings, he had stopped cold on his way to the coffeepot for a refill after becoming completely distracted by the vision on the other side of the French doors.
Presley Cole had taken to sunning herself on his deck.
She wasn’t naked but damn near. Dark sunglasses were perched on her nose, her red hair aglow under the noonday sun. She was on her back on one of his oversize bath towels, her pink bikini bright against crisp white terry cloth.
Today her arms were at her sides, one knee up, the other leg closest to him stretched long and straight. Perky breasts rounded the incredibly sexy string bikini top. A long time ago he’d had his hands on those breasts. He’d had his mouth on them. He’d made her come while touching them.
He blinked hard and forced his thoughts to the present, something he’d done a lot lately. Having her here was like opening a time capsule, one he’d prefer stayed sealed and buried. It wasn’t easy to come face-to-face with what he’d missed out on in the years since they’d lost contact. Having her here, knowing she was as single as he was and sleeping in his guest bedroom and sunbathing on his deck, made focusing on anything hard. And that wasn’t the only thing that was hard.
He glanced down at his empty coffee mug. He’d originally come up for a refill. After lapsing into a brief fantasy involving Presley minus her bikini top and with his mouth on her, perhaps a cold drink would be a better idea. He pulled a jug of homemade sun tea from the fridge, hesitating briefly before grabbing two glasses.
For three mornings, he’d attempted to push thoughts of her aside. He’d tried to keep up a wall, distancing himself from her like he would any other reporter. Problem was, she wasn’t any other reporter. This was Presley Cole, and she’d crumbled his wall now the same as she had years ago.
In other words, his tactics weren’t working.
She wasn’t leaving for a few more days, so he was going to have to find a better coping mechanism than pretending he didn’t want her. Today, rather than avoid her, he’d try something new and dive in headfirst.
He strolled outside with the iced tea glasses in hand. Walking the other direction—as in away from her—would be smarter than inviting her to dinner and seducing her, but he planned on doing both anyway.
Whether she forgave him for leaving her all those years ago or not, he saw no reason why they couldn’t satisfy their desire for each other in some sort of in-between realm. A kind of sexual purgatory, that would be more like a reprieve. Then he could stop fixating on what he could have done with her back then and just freaking do it already. The what-if scenarios had lingered in his head for too long. At this point, he’d be better off knowing what he was missing. Now to get her to believe that too.
“Thirsty?” He was parched now that he stood over her glistening body. Her belly was flat and bare, sweat dotting her skin thanks to the hot, midday sun. She was as tempting as if she was lying on a platter. Answering beads of perspiration dampened his upper lip.
“How’d you know?” She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and sat up. She blinked blue eyes the color of the lake before taking her glass and folding her legs beneath her.
He sat on the freshly stained deck boards, close enough to smell the coconut-scented oil on her skin. God, he wanted a taste of her. Just once. Just so he could settle the debate in his head about how good she’d tasted back then. He’d had his lips on hers the other day and that had proven his memory for shit. Her kiss had been far more potent and consuming than any he remembered from their past. Or maybe he’d forced himself to downplay her potency, knowing he couldn’t satisfy both his desire to leave and his desire to have her before he did.
“I love the heat. It’s the one tolerable element of Florida,” she said.
“There’s only one?”
She shrugged one freckled shoulder. He wanted to trace those freckles with his fingertips, slip the bikini top off and follow the path of his touch with his tongue. He guzzled half of his drink and watched a boat zip by on the water instead. He wasn’t stupid. Seducing Presley this time around required finesse.
“I love Florida but I’m tired of being there all the time. I’ve always wanted to travel. To see the world. Somehow the years passed and I haven’t moved an inch. I thought I was on a journey up a mountain, but it ended up being more of a circular track. I looked up and realized I hadn’t actually gone anywhere.”
“You’re here,” he pointed out, a fact he hadn’t been able to ignore.
“Yes. I am. I like this town. It’s lush and beautiful. I can see why the rich and famous come here for leisure.”
“It’s home.” It had been for his entire life. His parents had leaped on the real estate opportunities here, never expecting all four of their boys to go into the music industry instead.
“When I visited two years ago, I couldn’t picture you here. I figured you must have changed, become a different sort of person who prefers luxury and the finer things in life.”
“And now?” he couldn’t help asking.
“Well, your house is luxurious, but you’re...you. You love your family and songwriting and...” She bit her lip, seeming to think better of what she’d been about to say.
“And?” he prompted.
“It’s corny.”
“Honey, I write love songs for a living. Corny’s my jam.”